


Dreamers often lie to others, always to themselves

by Astray



Series: I re di che? [1]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo e Giulietta - Ama e Cambia il Mondo, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Everyone dies except Benvolio, Gen, In a way, M/M, Mercutio POV, The Author Regrets Nothing, unclear timeline on purpose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1332613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercutio is not a king, not in name, not in spirit - he played the part. But he dreamed too, and his dreams made him a fool. A lying life, and only two who ever saw past the guise. Living breath is not such a high price to pay for rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamers often lie to others, always to themselves

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the Italian version of the musical. They have the best Mercutio - and pretty much the one who is the closest to my headcanon.  
> If you want to know what I mean, watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlHUs3wVXyY  
> /dies and leaves

King of the world. Yeah right. Whatever. He must have been drunk the first time he mentioned it. He was a king without crown, and no one even knew. They were nothing but dogs rutting against any girl with a pretty face, curs fighting and barking because they knew no better. So was he. Mab was a witch, and she tool peace from him. Romeo... Well, if only he would learn – and maybe this time he really loved. The thought made him retch. Love. Pah, nothing but a word – a puff of air – mist in a cold day. Romeo kept on running and so he followed and when Romeo stopped, he kept going. He would not look back – not to see him fawn over yet another maid. To see her hopes dashed to the ground again, see her dove-like wings torn. To feel his heart swell in hopes just as vain that maybe he would see behind the mask. That there was a heart under the jarring words and gentle touch. But he was no fool. Once more, Romeo would love, madly, as others have a craving forgotten when sated. And then, heartbroken Romeo would come to tear him apart between his own sheets – because this was only was it was. Cold comfort for a heart that does not know love and thinks itself broken.  
There was one who knew. Benvolio – kind, loving Benvolio – and Mercutio hated himself for his own weakness. He did not want to feel. He did not want to need the solace of Benvolio's soothing words and his hand in his hair. Benvolio deserved more than a broken puppet. Benvolio stayed up with him all night, and let him say all the words he would never say otherwise. As though nothing Mercutio could say would make him bolt – no matter how dirty Mercutio felt, Benvolio did not recoil. He was there, and it was all that was needed. He knew he caused his friend pain. The worst was that he did not know what he ever did to warrant such unwavering affection and loyalty. But that was Benvolio – kind, loyal Benvolio. He wished good to all, wished ill to none. He simply stood by his friends, and Mercutio was not sure how he felt about it. Was he disgusted with Mercutio, who offered himself on a platter to one who would never love him back, just because he needed this touch. Even if the hands that touched him came away bloodied. Even if it left him a shell – a shell he filled with as much laughter and puns and curses to cover the damages.  
Tybalt knew as well. Mercutio had had suspicions – and it scared him – sickened him. Never did Tybalt use anything against him. Called him cur at his master's heel. Answered his taunts with snarls and threats. When he was fighting Tybalt, it was not the Prince of Cats he was raging against. It was himself. Benvolio would watch in horror – but would not break the fight – it was too dangerous for them all. And Mercutio would laugh, and laugh – because he could see Death – Death finally come to squash the lying Mab from her nutshell. But always Death would retreat as someone came in. Reason would descend – and even Tybalt would stop. No, don't stop now! Fight me! Kill me! All these things he screamed – at the top of his lungs – and no one heard but his foe and his friend. His friend hearing the shameful distress; his foe recognizing the death wish for a companion too well-known. If Tybalt had known, then he was almost as cruel as Romeo – because he knew and did not help him end this thing that was eating him away. On this hot day they fought, Tybalt caught him and whispered to him. It should have make him rage. Instead, he smiled over the jarring sound of his ribcage shrinking on his lungs. _Let's end it once and for all, Prince of Cats_. A nod was all he needed. But when he saw Tybalt's eyes on Romeo, he feared.  
It was stupid. Why would he defend the one whose selfish loves drove him into madness? He could not let it go – even if he wanted to hate Romeo with all the remnants of his soul, death was not what he wished on him. Not even on Tybalt, who always seethed and raged and yowled. Sometimes, Mercutio envied the ease with which he just stopped caring about everything else and avenged any perceived slights. It was a different kind of slavery. They were all slaves in this world, dogs that forgot about the leash. Why did Romeo step to that side? Why did he step to this side? Steel tore – a scratch indeed, but that was no cat. Death was close this time, he felt her breath on his neck – and Mab was finally falling. Fool. The blow was Romeo's and now, see what you've done, Tybalt? Romeo would even shed tears for him? How low. How villainous. How cruel! His curse – Romeo for making him feel, only to crush him; Tybalt for missing Romeo – or for killing him – or for freeing him? He was scared! Benvolio, kind, loyal Benvolio – don't listen. Benvolio deserved no curse – through his daze, he saw him – stricken, fallen on his knees – and he just wanted to tell him not to cry. He did not deserved his tears. Yet the only true ones. Tybalt ran after a last, shocked glance – because Mercutio was immortal. He was dying – and he hoped one day Romeo would feel it – the heart-rending agony that was love.  
A kiss – something he never asked before – and now forced on the living by the dying – a true kiss of death and it would have made him laugh. So many puns to be placed and he had no breath. Death was there and Mab was down – _oh, dearest queen – you told me I was a fool, and I thought I was above it. How avenged you are – your nutshell crushed into sand. I dreamed. I kept on dreaming_. And now he was awaking – at last.


End file.
